Aincrad: Legacy of the Damned
by H.R. Percival
Summary: On the first day, of the first month of the year 2024, a single man whose name was lost to the annals of history suffered death at the hands of his own blade, only to rise once more as something more than a man. Driven by shadows of the past, and the ghosts that now haunt him, he must take up his own shattered sword and become the most feared man in the history of Sword Art Online.


AINCRAD

-Legacy of the Damned-

Chapter 1.0: "The Shattered Blade"

- 1/1/2024

What do you do when you have stared death in the face, and though you stood upon his doorstep, he sent you back? Or perhaps, you were snatched away by the collar from his icy hands welcoming you to an eternity of slumber in the dark you so righteously deserved? It was when the breath once returned to my lungs, so sweet and yet so bitter like the kiss of a fallen angel, that I knew, I was not yet done. Hands raised towards the sky, armor clinging to the sweat that my body poured upon me like a great torrent from the very sea itself. I was amazed I had not drowned in it. Then, came my thoughts, so fierce they could have drowned the sea in their own ocean of fury and confusion, and they brought with them a great storm of emotions, anger, hatred, sadness, joy... Hope.

My vision was white as my eyes opened, and a display of incomrehensible numbers, letters and other digits flashed before me, and then settled as I regained my senses, and almost immediately regretted it as I brushed my body free of thick, powdery snow as I sat up. I looked up into the trees which stood tall overhead, feeling their menace as they looked down upon me, and the snow continued to fall, like tiny, soft daggers they found their way into the drenched cloth of my armor and my frozen skin. My head hurt, and I could not recall what had happned, before my memories came flooding back to me, and I could do nothing but cry out in anguish and fall once more to my back, wishing nothing but for the pain to stop as my body tried to mak up for the time it had spent quiet and unmoving.

For once I could recall my own name and not be sick of hearing it's mundane ring. Daisuke, son of Yosuke, and even here, it was just the same, the name I had been given would be mine until death, and I would be proud of such despite my own true feelings. Where there had once been pain, there was a chill, a gentle calm that surrounded the inner flame of rage that my own body now held onto so tightly, and with it, returned my strength, and my desire. It was in my own concern that I later found I had been most ignorant of that which had revived me, and it would soon make itself known. I tried to stand, and found my body reluctant to do so, and so I tripped, falling to my knees with a pitiful grunt, falling upon a blade which lay flat upon the floor. My fingers touched the cold, cool metal half-buried in icy snow, and at once a feeling of betrayal flooded into my heart, not only for the blade which had seemed to cry out in anguish and a pitiful sorrow as it had been wielded against me, and now a gentle silence as it lay here, broken and defaced.

It's name was Azkhan, such as I had named it when I had first taken it from the hands of the lovely blacksmith who had forged it for me. It's blade (had once) shone like the quiet stillness of the eternal night, and glittered with the majestic beauty of a thousand stars. It's hilt was forged from silver, and it's name: Azkhan, I had named it such in honor of the old tongues of the ancient races of the worlds of long forgotten fantasy. It was a name that meant exactly what it had been forged to be, a "Dark Radiance". For even in the blackest night and the darkest hour, I would have clutched this blade close to my still beating heart, and made a solemn prayer for the departed and those yet to come. For the murderers of this world had attempted to take my life, and had only partially succeeded, shattering the might of Azkhan in the process and laying waste to my still mortal body... I wept softly for my friends, which I had failed to protect, and my blade which had been made to strike me down in my hour of weakness. My tears soon dried as my face grew hot and the anger of my desire returned once more.

The man who had killed me had been one of the most frightening men I had ever seen. Clad in full body armor, he had laid waste to my brothers and I felt ashamed that I, as the one who caused their deaths, had allowed him to do so. I cursed my own stupidity two-fold, once for the curse of this world of liars and false strength known as "Aincrad", and another for my own stpidity and believing men of such shady atmosphere could be trusted. I raised my head, feeling the tears dry and the salt sting my still burning cheeks, a great sorrow that could not be displayed, for even in this darkest of hours, tears would do nothing for my friends. They would do nothing for me. I commanded my body to obey and it convulsed in response, the warm glow gone, and only the venom of terror and despair left to take hold, and all that remained was the burning ember of my wrath to fuel me. I wrapped my fingers around the hilt of my guardian: Azkhan, and I raised [him] to my cheek. He was as cold as I was, and yet he released a strange warmth.

I thought of him as a friend, more than a pile of data and a slab of steel. Perhaps my own madness was finally taking hold of me in a world so deprived of justice and light, a world where the strongest of men was not weighed by his ability, but simply how strong his weapon was, how well his armor resisted a blow, and how much this "game" supported him. It was almost enoguh the make me vomit. There was no honor here, no truth or vigilence, pain or sorrow that those in the real world knew. My hand slowly raised from my side to my pocket, and I held up a small crystal vial full of a clear liquid. To this world, this tiny bottle could have saved my friends from certain death, and I blamed myself for leaning on it like a crutch. Even though this was a game, the stakes were most certainly real, and a blade could end your life just as well as it could in real life, even if this world decided which blade was stronger simply by chance and numbers. Disgusted, and trembling, I tilted my hand slowly and let the potion fall from my palm to the floor, where it broke into many small shards, which quickly dissipated back into the void of the digital world. My breath came shaky and my vision clouded as I finally stood, the world feeling much heavier than before, as if the very air resented the fact that I had returned to the land of the living. I swiped at the air with my free hand to bring up a menu screen, and the game reluctantly responded, displaying a small window in front of me, which recounted the statistics and abilities of my character, as well as my weapons and armor.

I did not have much, but I could remember my armor well enough, and the absence of my other weapons. The shortsword: 'Earthfel', and the throwing axe which had been most graciously named: "Ogwaew" which had meant: "Of the Wind"... My weapons which had been taken from me to strike down the innocent. I could almost recall hearing them scream in protest as they whirled through the air, spilling innocent blood, just as Azkhan did, yet the more rational side of my self dismissed it simply as a crazy desire to believe my very blades were alive. I sighed reluctanly, and dismissed the screen, seeing everything but my weapons remained, leaving me only with the shattered blade of Azkharn. And yet, as I stood there, with the most simple of goal in mind, I could not even begin to wonder how to go about such a thing. What it was that I desired most, was the destruction of those that had betrayed me, a great vengence that would redeem Azkharn and free my spirit from sorrow, I would pay bloodshed with bloodshed, and even then what would that accomplish? Nothing, yet it was all I had to cling to as my heart descended into the cold madness. It was then that the power that had saved me from death made itself known by way of a spectral hand upon my shoulder, which brought me to a sudden stop. I was filled with a calm terror, and yet I felt safer than I had ever been.

A young woman, though dead, walked around my rightmost side, and I felt my humanity return once more as I gazed upon her. Her fair, raven-black hair cut short, and her body adorned by a ghostly white armor which shone like the stars in the darkest night sky, calmed me with her very prescence, and when I gazed into her eyes, she spoke through them, and her voice filled my very thoughts, drowning them out, and making them my own. "_Daisuke, son of Yosuke, bloodied brother of Abel and the fallen swords of your comrades, lover of Glyn'es... You live once more, guided back from death, and banished to this world til our parting by a dark curse._"

My mind fluttered as the mention of this word, as it darted around the painful memories of those whom I held so dearly to my heart, and rested solely upon the word "_Curse_"... Perhaps this was merely a delusion of the afterlife, but even then there would be no explenation as to why I remained trapped here in this world. "_Curse?_" I repeated, feeling the very weight of the word drop from my tongue like a pound of lead, and my own voice so foreign and alien in it's sound I could have sworn I was reborn in the body of a man who once lived in the lands of Ice, Fire, and the Steel of clashing blades. Perhaps my love for the fantastic was driving me mad... As much as I wanted to denounce any true belief in a thing such as a curse, the spectral maiden held me by my shoulder, and I remained there, obedient and still, like the leash of a hound.

"_Do not doubt the words I speak, for in death, the Ghosts of Aincrad gain a quiet and stillness only known to those who passed before us. We cannot explain it anymore than you can, but can you deny that you stand here still among the living, though you no longer live nor die by the sword? You have been banished from the realm of death just as we have, and here you must stay until the dark curse around you is lifted._"

"_And what of those that went before me into the cold of the void? Where are they if you stand here before me, a Ghost of Aincrad, trapped here in death as you were in life? Should my brothers not be with you as well?_" I demanded to know an answer to the madness that had befallen me, and her eyes narrowed at my question, releasing me as she passed by me, as quiet and as gentle as the softest of breezes, and yet as cold as the deepest chill of the north, a winter beyond all others. "_In death to angered shadows lie, given blades burned black by the hottest flame, and driven back like you and I. Your brothers walk this world now as shades, angered spirits of the fallen trapped in death as they were in life, and guard this world as if it were there home, resentful of their fall, and yet have no light to guide wander lost in the shadow until you deliver them._"

"_Then they are made as beasts and walk amongst them, damned to the ends of this world just as it's people. Even in death, they did not escape their tormenters. What a miserable existence to suffer through. But why must I be the one chosen? Surely my blood-brother Abel or the Sword-Maiden Glyn'es could have suited them better."_

_ "I was not the one to cast the curse upon you. If you so desire an answer, then you must find your blades lost, and free your bretheren from their torment. I linger here as long as you do, and that shall be for an eternity unless the curse is broken, whatever it may be to this world. But I must warn you now, this world is built upon the technology of man, and your prescence in it is an abhorrent sin to it's grand design. You unknowingly cheated it, and it will do everything it can to right this wrong, even if it means giving strength to your enemies where you have none._" The Raven-Haired maiden grew quiet for a moment, as if her own humanity returned to her for a moment, and I saw in her eyes a gentle glimmer of sadness and a refletion of her death at the hands of the monsters of the game, though whether they were players in this game of death or actual monsters I could not tell. It became more than clear to me that there was more to this situation than I could even hope to comprehend at this moment. "_... Then we shall travel together._" I confirmed to her, looking south to where I had seen my murderers flee after they had finished their buisiness. "_We make for the south then, fallowing the careless swathe of destruction of my killers as we go._"

"_... Very well Daisuke, Son of Yosuke._" She closed her eyes and slowly faded into non-being, still present yet not, as invisble as the very breath I drew. "_Lead on._"

I turned away from the now quiet darkness of the trees to the south, only god knew how much time had passed since my own demise, and I dared not waste a single second more in allowing my undoers their head-start. Taking up the Shattered Blade Azkharn, I returned him to his lonely sheathe, and began to run... Feeling the flame return to my chest and the breeze of the ghostly maiden blanket me as if she herself ran with me.

_Vengence would be mine._


End file.
